Bertram Connelly
Nova had left Bertram with very concise and very meaningful words. Time was most importantly of the essence. Unlike Sector Nine, who favored Retrieval duties to hunting, Sector Three was far better at slaving and Hunting, or had more forces in those two branches of its operation than any other. But that didn't mean Sector Three's forces couldn't come in quickly if the Sector didn't take the advantage. While it may be mostly accustomed to Afflicted and person hunting, that did not mean they were so stupid as to led a hoard like this go to waste. The Sectors, as overzealous and ruthless as one was and as equally driven to destroy the opposition as the other one was, the Sectors feared any imbalances between them. The Small Caches that most of Sector Nine's Retrieval groups were returning from had no doubt reached the ears of Sector Three, and a Cache of this size and magnitude of creation meant that they'd be scrambling quickly to beat Sector Nine to the punch, or more unlikely some scavenger that could come across it.
So, noting that the words of the freelancer, who was currently saying some words to Taija that Bertram couldn't altogether make out, had some merit, he admitted Taija enter into his office as soon as she ceased talking with the well-built wanderer. He motioned her to the same seat that Nova had recently arisen from, but as she sat down, something in her demeanor caused Bertram to suddenly have a change of heart on her involvement. He started to feel like maybe it was best if she didn't see the City in all its horrors. She may have lost much, and she may have known what had taken it, but she had never truly seen how persuasive the City can be in taking. He knew Taija and her mother well, his Retrievers who were injured in the line of duty noted with great satisfaction and gratitude of the great, hospitable service their clinic provided, and they had an altogether good reputation and were on great standing with the people of Sector Nine. He wasn't sure if he wanted to send Taija out there; someone that medically skilled and valuable to the Sector who, like everyone in the Sector, he invested personally, as much as he knew personal investment in people was what crushed his drive the first time. It was tentative, the connection to the people of the Sector, and it was strained through the weeks of weariness and conniptions over the building war as the tensions inevitably grew, but it was there.
He wouldn't be able to live with himself and he would never be able to look Taija's mother in the eye if she died. Not too many people died on his watch as a leading Hunter and Retriever in Sector Three- most of the pain came from the way the Sector betrayed him and all the positive altruism he had poured into it and the people he had once cared for- but he remembered that before that, the handful of deaths that had happened on his watch ate him inside as if his stomach had filled with lava. He did not want that to happen again.
This flashed in his mind, just looking at the girl, someone who he knew wanted to do nothing more than give to people and help and understand the world she lived in, veritably bouncing with excitement, eyes brimming as she no doubt perused the possibilities. She had always taken too big an interest in the City. That attitude sobered him, made him feel hope for new generations, and at the same time it scared him. He had met a lot of people with her attitude, about the City being wonderful and endless and full of possibility. The only possibilities presented to them were the endless possibilities of how fucked up their minds would become for seeing things too long. Just because almost all Hunters and Retrievers had survived didn't mean he didn't experience losing people in a less corporeal way. Many bright eyed people became jaded, harsh, afraid. The few deaths didn't help, and the people closest to them or the people there when one of his own died were forever broken, mentally shattered in a way that could be partially recovered, but leave them never fully whole again. One of his experiences brought one of his own in contact with a Constant, one that looked mostly like a man, but with a book forever open in one hand, and his eyes were gaping voids into nothingness. All it took was the free hand resting on the young Retriever's head, and that was all it took for the poor child to enter a catatonic, semi-waking nightmare, talking about how all the things he knew caused his head to feel on fire, how he wanted to rip out his eyes because he saw everything. He died after four months of unbearable pain. He imagined Taija with the dead, jaded eyes, glazed over in bitter acceptance of the horrors of the world. He imagined her having the broken, thousand-yard stare that the even less fortunate had come out with. And, worst of all, he imagined Taija's eyes in the manic, psychotic state of the kid who encountered the Constant, staring and seeing nothing, pupils shrunk to pinpoints of black in endless milky fields of white and bloodshot vessels, glancing around hastily at everything.
He couldn't say no to her, though. Time was of the essence if they wanted to beat Sector Three to the punch, and it was good fortune that she showed up when she had. He also just wouldn't be able to tell her no right here in his office. He decided that he needed to lay down ground rules. Noting Nova's comment on brevity, he made his words quick and concise after only the few seconds that had passed between his change of heart and his final decision, but not altogether as flat or official as he had with Nova.
"Alright, Miss Willow," he began, but then deciding to correct himself and stay formality. He was rarely formal with anyone outside of new recruits and mercenaries in any case. "Taija. You understand what you're agreeing to, right? You might think you know how the City takes, but reading it and seeing it are two different things. I will understand if you want to back out." It was a futile gesture; she wouldn't back out, but he still had to give it one more try. He tried to keep his eyes cool and collected, his manner that of an official, and that the mere act of being behind the desk gave him impartial authority over the person on the other side. It was a lie; he tried to be detached and not let his emotions affect his face, his eyes, but he felt the worry come across his face and he hoped she didn't notice. Sometimes, he wished he was much like the Council of Sector Three that betrayed him and fell to slavery and inhumane acts. It must feel so nice to have little empathy, no conscience over your shoulders. After a second waiting for a response, he continued, "If you take this job, the most I can offer is 1,500 Cells. The clinic will, of course, get all medical equipment recovered from the Cache by default, and on top of that you can take a couple things that aren't weapons, ammunition, or body armor; the main objective is to get that." He handed a piece of paper to her, and scribbled on it were orders to retrieve from the weapons lock-up two Beretta 92S's and four magazines with fifteen 9x19 mm bullets in each. In total about sixty bullets. "Give this to the receptionist, he'll know what to do. If he complains about it, tell him that's a direct order from me. I'm giving you these for personal defense, and sometimes just one gun just won't work. It's last resort though, I want you to mostly assist and play the part of a medic en route to a different point, and Nova is to pretend to be your guide. If he gets in trouble and can't fight or if you're in a situation where he can't help you, then fight. If you feel like you're in danger..." He sighed. Normally he didn't give this out to anyone going out for Retrieval. But he'd rather lose the Cache than one of his best medics. "...then run. Just run back here and keep away from whatever it is that's trying to kill you. Alongside that, I just want you to let me know if you see any activity with Sector Three operatives or if Nova does try to take something before letting me know, although I don't think he will. I also trust that you'll bring along some medical supplies in case either he or you get injured. I don't know if Nova's any good at tending to people; he's certainly not as good at it as you or anyone in your family, so just do your best, please, not to get hurt. Once it's done and if you have the Cache, just give the weapons and ammo back to the receptionist to put back, report to me, tell me what you want from the Cache and I'll make sure you get it as a reward for doing a great service like this. It means a lot to me and everyone that you're willing to go through with an assignment like this." He didn't know how many minutes he wasted talking, but he knew that at least a few had passed since Nova had walked out the door and left the Council building. "Time is short, and Nova will be waiting on the northern border of the Sector for you, a few blocks north of the marketplace. So, fifteen hundred Cells, two items from the Cache that aren't weapons, armor, or ammo. Do you accept that, and do you know how dangerous what you're agreeing to is? And, since we have a little more time, is there anything you want to ask before you go?"
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The City was furious. It saw activity in Sectors Three and Nine, but neither had begun the venture yet. It thought it could identify one from Sector Nine, just the way it perched, impatiently, on the side of a building on the edge of the Sector closest to the Cache, as if waiting for someone. It could not clearly see activity that it could easily discern as preparation from Sector Three, but something surely must be happening, preparations being made for some kind of Retrieval team. It normally was a creature of infinite patience, omniscience incarnate, watching through the eyes of every bird, looking through the sockets of every creature in its sway, looking down through the windows and the towers and the skies. With its awareness currently focused and occupied on the scene taking place a mere block from the Cache. The Servant, Katrina, and her dogs, were attacking The City's Graphers. Katrina's hefty Bowie knife danced, and it did little to impress The City, although objectively it would have likely mesmerized a human with relative ease. Shadow Graphers split where her blade danced, where Shadow Graphers were too foolish to dodge or move away from, bifurcated and bisected, fell apart into wreathing shadows, until they moved in the form of a black primordial ooze, faster than she could perforate them in their weakened states, before coming back, concrete yet shadowy hands finding purchase in the world more quickly. A dozen individual Shadow Graphers attacked her, falling to pieces at the primal, trained dance-like motions that befit the Servant of one of the Constants that infuriated the City, the Constant of the Thrill of the Hunt, Tsefahn.
Tsefahn had not earned its ire as much as other Constants. A great many were, admittedly, stronger than her, and these strong ones had the power to wrench the City's power away from itself, to carve and completely recreate the area inside their domains of influence into their whims. The City had veritably howled in pain those days, and it was those Constants it hated more than any. But Tsefahn also earned its ire. Her and her Huntresses had led on Artemisian crusades throughout the City, slaughtering so many of the City's most beloved creatures. Each Afflicted was as perfect and unique as a snowflake, the great stags and beasts it kept in the City it kept out of fascination, but Tsefahn's Amazonian Huntresses easily bypassed its defenses and slaughtered the great beasts. So, Tsefahn was a rare case, where it hated when she had not truly been able to leave a direct mar on the City itself, and due to the shattering of most of Her power by another, more powerful Constant, it was unlikely she would carve out her own piece of itself any time soon. But still it retained its grudge.
While a dozen or so Shadow Graphers were locked in conflict with Katerina- although the number increased drastically every time she cut one in half, two more rose from the shadows, weaker but still able to overwhelm her potentially with the speed increase and numbers alone- her incessant Mutt Lazarus was currently sinking its fanged maw into the Shoggoth's shadowy, sinewy flesh, tearing away chunks after chunks, biting well into its soft, vulnerable flesh. However, Lazarus was now firmly latched to the Shoggoth, and it could extend its head, little more than a gaping maw filled with circles upon circles of obsidian-colored, surprisingly sharp shadow teeth. The chunks that flew off the Shoggoth were trying desperately to come back into the tentacled folds, although most of the smaller bites had no consciousness left inside them and so they dissipated into the nothingness. Shadow Graphers were amassing into the Shoggoth, causing it to grow larger. The Shoggoth had lost a few of its lower tentacles to the dog, severing the thin tendrils with its teeth. The City hatched a plan. Using the Shadow Graphers pouring into the Shoggoth, it grew, extended its tubular shadowy neck as new tendrils spilled from its ethereal skin, and slowly, the shadows of the Shadow Graphers closed in on the mutt's front paws. Tendrils moved fast, trying to close in on the dog Lazarus as it would inevitably focus on freeing itself from the shadowy bonds with hits canines. It needed to yelp in pain, grab Kat's attention, draw her away, focus her attention on the big thing in the room. It had three tricks up its sleeve that it could use almost in tandem. The first, however, it would surprise her with. Quietly and subtly, the City poked holes in its own pavement, tunnels leading far below the entry way, curving around, and poking back into the ground. It made several such tunnels, so small in diameter as only someone with incredible vision could detect it. Kat, likely, had such incredible vision. But it didn't matter so long as it made too many holes to guess where its surprise would come from. All it needed was for cat to turn around and save that poor dog she was so attached to. The City knew she would win. Even if it wounded her or seriously injured her, it sent its weakest of creatures after her, albeit in a larger form and with more Shadow Graphers than it usually amassed, and Huntresses had an infamously high regeneration factor, as did her dog. It was all about making sure Katerina Wythburn, former Huntress of the wretched Constant Tsefahn, was preoccupied until she could properly have the time to meet the cordially invited guests of two Sectors.